Of Mushrooms and Grief
by daydreamer1227
Summary: There are many different ways to deal with grief. George Weasley comes to a realization after Harry helps him deal with his: while Harry has been comforting everybody else, who has been comforting Harry? George makes it his responsibility to do for Harry what Harry did for him. And no way is Ron going to sit this one out, not when Harry needs him.


It had been quite a few weeks since the war had ended. Things were finally starting to return to normal, but some wounds are simply too deep to heal so quickly.

A lot of people tried to hide their hurt, and a lot of the time it worked.

There was one person, however, who had held the largest burden to bear in the war; and he was now the one who was suffering for it. Though he tried harder than anyone else to hide his pain, everyone who knew him could see that he was slowly falling apart. He would seem fine, but every now and then his control would slip.

Everyone avoided speaking of the war when he was around, but they were starting to worry that if he kept everything bottled up inside him, it would become too much for him to handle.

It was a cloudy morning, and the Burrow was as busy as ever. Everyone was making their way downstairs for an absurdly large breakfast made by Molly Weasley.

"Ginny, dear, move over so Bill can sit down. Ah, there's Hermione, why don't you take that seat over there by Ron. Charlie, fetch Percy would you? He's outside with your father. Where's Harry? Is he awake yet?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances before Ron glanced at the door nervously. "I don't think he ever came to bed last night."

Molly frowned, and everyone else at the table looked sad.

The entire Weasley family was staying at the house, along with Hermione, Harry, and the Lovegoods, who had not yet finished construction on their new house. Needless to say, the Burrow was fairly crowded.

It was at that moment that Harry walked in, followed by–

"Georgie!" Molly cried as she saw her son.

George Weasley had taken to staying locked in his room, even during mealtimes, where he would just summon up food if he had an appetite that day.

"'Lo, Mum," George whispered back.

"Where have you been?" Ron demanded, staring accusingly at Harry who had dark circles under his eyes. "Hermione and I have been worr– we've, um, been looking for you."

Harry shrugged with a half-glance at George and said, "I fancied a walk."

"You fancied a walk," Ron repeated faintly.

The truth was, Harry _had_ taken a walk… to the garden. He hadn't been able to sleep. Not an hour had passed before George had joined him. They must have stared at the gnomes for hours before finally speaking. It turned out that a talk with Harry Potter was exactly what George had needed to knock some sense into him. Harry had saved him from drowning in his own grief.

Now if only someone would save Harry from his.

"Next time you fancy a walk, mate, let someone know," said Ron.

George looked worriedly at Harry who just sent Ron a small apologetic smile; he wasn't sure if the rest of his family had noticed, though he was sure Ron and Hermione had, and possibly Ginny, that Harry's eyes were laden with the pain of his silent suffering. George wanted nothing more than to comfort the man who might as well be his brother, this man had, after all, just done this for him, but how do you comfort someone who had been to Hell and back?

"Why don't you sit down, Harry, dear. Breakfast is almost ready."

Harry obediently sat down, and George claimed the chair on his side. Once the rest of the family had joined them at the table, Molly magicked everyone's plates of food in front of them.

"Now, I made a nice big breakfast, and I expect all of you to eat it." She turned and looked pointedly at George and Harry, neither of whom had been eating much lately, especially Harry, but her smile was gone in a second.

Harry was eyeing his food with a panicked sort of expression, as if he were unaware that he was surrounded by friends and family, as if he were unaware that he even resided at the Burrow at all.

He was staring at his food. Sausage, bacon, toast, and scrambled eggs.

Mixed in with the scrambled eggs were mushrooms.

The smell of them made him nauseous, and he was suddenly back in that dreaded tent, listening to Hermione and Ron arguing about their meager meal again, and Ron was blaming her for the foul taste of the mushrooms she had scavenged from the woods.

Harry abruptly stood up. His chair slid back loudly against the floor, and now everyone was looking at him anxiously. Harry barely managed to stumble away from the table before he collapsed and threw up what little food he'd had left in his stomach.

He was on his hands and knees, the taste of bile still lingering in his mouth and throat. He closed his eyes, trying to stop his head from spinning, Ron and Hermione's harsh words still echoing in his mind. Ron, leaving. Hermione, crying. Himself, Harry, feeling as though a piece of himself had left with Ron.

Harry barely registered that someone had already vanished his sick from the floor before he shakily forced himself to his feet and stumbled away from hands that were reaching for him, anxious and worried– Harry suddenly felt overwhelmed and crowded.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Weasley, but I'm not very hungry." Harry shrugged out from under Ron's supportive hand that had found its way to his shoulder and ducked out of the room.

They all winced when they heard the front door shut.

"Has he spoken to anybody?" George asked in the silence. George had been so busy with his own grief, hiding in his room that he hadn't even considered… Harry hadn't even crossed his mind these past few weeks. Why would he, when all that he could think about was Fred–? Guilt began to creep into the edges of his mind. How much had it cost Harry that morning to comfort him, to offer experienced words and talk of Sirius' death which George knew was still painful to Harry.

Harry, who had dealt with so much loss and grief in his young life, had known exactly what to say to George.

But now George wondered if anybody had every spoken to Harry in the way that Harry had just done for George.

The Dursleys sure as hell didn't.

But George never had either, so did that make him as bad as the Dursleys? When Sirius had died, George hadn't known how do deal with a grieving Harry. No letters of comfort had been sent to Harry at Privet Drive that summer.

And now, Harry's list of lost loved ones had grown so much in length…

Had anybody even thought to comfort Harry on the loss of his owl?

"No," said Ron quietly, "He's never been one who– Well, he's just never really been the 'chatty type' when it comes to things like this."

George frowned and quickly left to find Harry.

Hermione stepped forward to follow, wringing her hands in worry, but Ron grabbed her elbow. "Actually, Hermione," he said, "Do you mind if I just…"

Hermione frowned, but nodded. Maybe a talk with two of the Weasley brothers was what Harry needed.

Hermione quietly watched Ron follow George out the door, wanting to follow, but knowing that she wasn't what Harry needed right now.

"He'll be all right, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, but her voice wavered with uncertainty.

"I know," said Hermione.

A/N: This will not be a slash story– It will be fairly short, most likely a two-shot. Please review!


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